Hide the barn from prying eyes
By the time he had searched every nook and cranny, night had come and gone and an emerging dawn grew warmer. Just the type of weather he loved. His chest hair exposed to the breeze, his legs tingled, and joy surged through him. He breathed the air in deeply as he opened the front screen door and stepped outside onto the porch; the inhabitants of the house long were gone.
Amy Anderson sat in her car watching the stranger through her binoculars. He stood on the porch again, still as a marble statue, staring up at the sun with his eyes closed, almost nude. The rising sun made the shadows dance on the definitions of his muscular frame. Wearing what seemed like an oversized camouflaged hunter’s vest and pants that barely stayed up on his hips. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him since he had emerged from the woods unclothed and Capt. Rogers had chased after him to no avail. The stranger exuded confidence and she couldn’t help but be excited and thrilled.
Amy’s face began blushing, bringing out her already rosy cheeks and freckles, “Get a hold of yourself Amy, you’re a professional.”
She couldn’t help her eyes moving down the length of his body then staring fixated by the obvious outline of his well-endowed member. “Remember Amy,” she said to herself over and over again “he could be the killer and is probably deranged...sane people don’t usually hang out naked in the woods at crime scenes.”
He had unkempt, long, snow-white hair, sigil-like red tattoos spanning the length of his wrinkle free face and offsetting his wild gray eyes. Devon finally noticed Amy staring at him. His instincts told him to run but he stayed the course, sizing her up. He leaped off the front porch without using the steps and onto the soft green grass without a sound. Amy adjusted her binoculars.
Devon opened the truck door with an angry yank and jumped into the driver’s seat, shifted into drive, kicking rocks and dust up as a result. The truck turned and disappeared onto a back road obscured by the Sellers’ house. Amy tried to turn around to try to catch up with the truck. The truck had driven off in a cloud of dust, nowhere to be found.
He thought about the obsessive aria, an aria that could be heard by other lycanthropes over three continents, about Alicia’s long lost love. Devon stirred from seclusion and from his den in Alaska he traversed through the lower forty-eight states. One Aria in particular told about the Malstros plantation. Devon took advantage of the four-wheel-drive making an unscheduled detour off the crudely paved and potholed roads that gave way to massive amounts of mud as the tires spun, throwing filth and sludge onto the truck’s mud flaps and leaving enormous grooves in its wake.
He cautiously but steadily drove through the hollows and back jarring bumps until he arrived at his destination; Raccourci Island. Miles away he could see the expansive yard, overgrown brushes, a rundown and neglected two-story house. Excitement made his foot stomp the pedal all the way into the floor. The cab jumped in response. A jolt then an ear shattering squeal before he found himself clutching the top of the dashboard as the cab shook, teetered, and dropped, the broken frame gashed and shredded the dirt before finally coming to a shuddering stop. A hidden pothole did in the truck’s axle. All right, Devon thought, throwing his arms up in frustration. He had to walk the rest of the way.
As Devon thoroughly investigated all four corners of the decrepit house, terrified eyes watched him. Frail, frightened eyes, Tracy’s eyes with the absence of Alex; and the dozen or so women and children Aticus had gathered all watched Devon from the relative comfort and safety of the barn window upstairs. Women and children too weak or wracked with pain from multiple alterations to call out for help, much less stagger twenty feet to climb down the ladder and too weak-willed to defy the breeder male, Aticus. They would not be discovered, the troll-born’s magic had been successful… the barn had been hidden from prying eyes.